Remember those semi-creepy, single-paneled "Love Is. . . " comics that ran in the paper when we were growing up? The doe-eyed characters formed in some pre-Anime universe where someone could actually make a living filling in those blanks?
Ours is too snarky a village for such things to thrive today. And yet, I was reminded of that comic just this morning, filling out that very sentence myself.
Love is. . . three bags of groceries from Super Saver.
Eric's one pair of shoes is just about shot. His feet swim inside them, aired out by the tears that have pulled away the stitching. For all practical purposes, he is on his own now, hovering at the poverty line, yet still so hesitant to ask for the chance to do a load of wash now and then.
Enter Allison, Allison who has more shoes than a young Imelda Marcos, and a generous heart to match. Allison, the younger sister who, yesterday, insisted upon driving her brother to Super Saver to buy him some groceries.
The same sister who took him to Target two months ago, where she bought him bedding and kitchen supplies, anxious that his new apartment be well stocked. I'm sure she would have preferred funkier sheets than the grey-blue ones Eric chose, but she made her peace with his less-than-stylin' style and bought them anyway.
You don't lug around two humans-in-waiting for nine months each and not fall in love with them. It goes without saying that Eric and Allison mean the world to me. That they mean the world to each other, too, though? And that I am lucky enough to occasionally witness that exchange?
Well, love is. . . something, isn't it?
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